


Monsters Aren't Just For Hunting

by WritingAnAlternateUniverse



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, And they have a healthy friendship, Best friends actually, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Claws, Geralt treats Jaskier like an Omega so thats how it is ABO, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Jaskier goes to her for various advice and hangs out with her when Geralt is in a mood, Jaskier is a monster-fucker, M/M, Mutations!, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, There is a lil ABO in here, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers are more monster-like, Yennefer and Jaskier are friends, more tags as i write, sharp teeth, so i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingAnAlternateUniverse/pseuds/WritingAnAlternateUniverse
Summary: The bard has always been known to fuck monsters without a second thought through many incarnations of works. A certain tabletop game, for instance. But has anyone ever wondered why? Well, the reasoning goes all the way back to one certain bard. One who sang like a little lark, one that used the name Dandelion instead of his full name, because all of the best musicians had a pseudonym, so why couldn't he? The bard that started it all was one Jaskier, a bard who found beauty and grace in a monster of a man, a Witcher named Geralt of Rivia...Witchers are terrifying mutants, on par with the very monsters that they hunt. They use their swords only when they can't kill something with their bare hands. Even so, they try to look as human as possible, going so far as to file down teeth and claws, stand a little shorter than full-height, drink potions every day to keep their eyes some semblance of a normal color.Jaskier is a normal human bard. Nothing too magical about him, other than his singing and his views on people. His songs can get stuck in your head from the first time you hear them. When he meets a certain Witcher in a tavern one day, he insists on following him and being his friend and maybe a little more.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 168





	Monsters Aren't Just For Hunting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pernilla_Writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pernilla_Writes/gifts).



> The ideas in this aren't mine, I just take inspiration from posts that @/vvitchering and @/PernillaWrites made on twitter. Go follow them and look at other things they do!
> 
> (Also, POV will bounce from Jaskier to Geralt on chapters. If it changes in the middle of a chapter, there will be a note of it!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets a Witcher and tries to become his friend...

~Jaskier's POV~

Finding a new muse was always hard for Jaskier, as no one stayed around for long. They wouldn't let him stay close, or they would leave pretty quickly. Therefore, his songs never had a very personal sense to them, never deeply knowledgeable of the muse to really give them a full character in his songs and stories.  
One slow day, after Jaskier had gotten some pretty rotten criticism, he met a very large and very intimidating man. And he found his next muse. Not to say this muse was thrilled about him following him out of the tavern.

Jaskier walked alongside the giant of a man and his horse, half-jogging to even keep up. He stared at his back, seeing his demeanor hunched and his jaw was set, practically wound tight with tension. His gloved hands were balled up into fists as Jaskier jogs to his side.  
"You are... You exude Destiny! Come on, just one song."  
"Fuck off, bard," the man grumbles, his voice bordering on an animalistic growl. Though, the Witcher came from the School of the Wolf, so maybe that made sense... It still sent a shudder down Jaskier's spine. "Destiny and I aren't exactly friends."

Jaskier glances over to the man. His eyes seemed distant, staring ahead with a sort of far-away look that most people who suffered heavily got from time to time. Jaskier had seen it plenty of times in the taverns and inns he played at, especially when he sang certain love songs, or songs of sorrow. The bard felt his heart twist a little bit. He always felt bad for the people who carried such burdens as to get that look, that distant look, where they seemed to want to be anywhere else, or anyone else, besides where or who they were presently. The Witcher's pretty amber eyes, though, seemed to carry something heavier. Jaskier didn't know everything about Witchers and what they went through, only knowing that they had to kill beasts that brought terror upon the land, but they were met with fear and contempt anywhere they went. Even now, in the tavern they had left from, everyone seemed tense when Jaskier had said that Geralt was a Witcher out loud.

That night, Geralt was setting up camp in the forest nearby. Jaskier sits on a log, tuning his new lute as the Witcher sets out a mess of blankets on the ground, along with a few packs of necessities for a fire and food. Or, that's what Jaskier assumed. Geralt then turned to Jaskier, his amber eyes looking almost a little brighter despite the feeble light of the moon breaking through the leaves of the trees. Maybe it was the moonbeams hitting those eyes, making them look like pure citrine gems set in his face. Jaskier could swear, though, that the dark amber eyes from before wouldn't look like that now. Not after they had been in the sunlight and hadn't looked like that all day. But Geralt was staring him down.

"Leave," the Witcher grunts.  
"What?" Jaskier squeaks out quietly.  
"Leave. Go home. Your reputation will only get worse if someone sees you here," Geralt mutters. He barely opened his mouth and his lips didn't move very much.  
"But what if you have an adventure without me? I have to document it! Make it a song! What if it becomes legendary? The one I made today is great and all, but wh-"  
"Shut up. Go home. I don't do anything like that at night. You can catch up to me in the morning." The Witcher's citrine eyes seemed to shine with his growing anger, the areas around his pupils starting to change in color a little. Swirling wisps of red were seeming to bleed into the yellow of his gemstone eyes.  
Jaskier sets his jaw and puts his lute down, standing up to Geralt, standing at his full height as best he could. He just about stood eye-level with the Witcher.

"No," he said firmly, his eyes mirroring his firmness.

The Witcher seemed to puff up. He almost seems to grow in height before Jaskier, standing at his full, towering height. Jaskier suddenly felt incredibly small, like he was some bug staring up at a giant about to step on him. Geralt snarls, curling his lips up to bear teeth a pearly white. The canines were shaped strangely, like they were modified somehow, but also oddly sharp like small knives inset to Geralt's mouth. His eyes swirled a bloody crimson, flecks of the golden eyes still making themselves known, like specks of gold flakes floating in a crystal ball of blood. Seemingly retractable claws tear out of those blackened leather gloves the Witcher seemed to favor, long and talon-like. His hair was wild and bristled like an angered wolf.

"Leave!" Geralt roars, his voice echoing through the trees, disrupting some birds from their sleep. Crickets stop their chirping. Everything seemed much more quiet. Even the brook nearby seemed to hush at Geralt's bellow.

Jaskier stared at Geralt. He looked like a monster, like the thing the Witcher hunted every day. Jaskier didn't know how his own face looked, but Geralt's face looked much different than how he acted. Maybe it was because Jaskier wanted to see the good in everyone, even someone as feared as this Witcher. Jaskier takes a deep breath. He carefully, slowly, reaches up, having to stand on his toes to do so. Geralt backs up a little bit, eyes wide and startled like some animal, before Jaskier gently cups Geralt's face in his hand.

The Witcher's eyes flutter a little bit before he rumbles an unintelligible growl and seems to shrink in stature again, hunching over back down to human-like height. His claws seem to disappear and his eyes return to a beautiful yellow citrine.  
"I'm not leaving you, Geralt. Besides... Everyone needs a travel buddy," Jaskier offers quietly, almost jokingly, though he was very serious.

Geralt scowls, but his eyes flutter shut.  
"You'll be a damn annoying one," was all he said before seeming to wrench himself away from Jaskier and move back to making camp. "You get to set up your own shit, bard," he rumbles.

Jaskier sighs and smiles triumphantly to himself as he sets his coat out to lay on as Geralt lumbers over to build a small fire. He lays out rocks before laying sticks in the middle of a small circle. He gathers some dry leaves and dried bundles of herbs and lays them in there before striking some flint and steel, the sparks flitting and fluttering, landing on the dry grass and herbs and smoking with warmth. As he works, though, he eyes Jaskier's meager bedding. The bard could feel the monster-hunter's eyes on his back as he shifts and shuffles his coat around, putting his bag down as a pillow. He didn't think anything of it, though. The Witcher had been annoyed, tried to scare Jaskier off only moments before. Something in his mind questioned his safety with Geralt. After all, the Witcher hadn't had food today since this morning, and he obviously was a large man so he needed a large meal and-

"Bard," came the gruff voice, clearly annoyed as if Geralt had called Jaskier multiple times.  
Jaskier spins around to be met with a large fur blanket thrown into his arms. It was soft and well-worn. It smelled lightly of lavender and pine, and heavily of Geralt's own scent. It was thick and musky. Jaskier grumbles that the Witcher needed a bath. The comment was met with a raised brow and a slight growl, so maybe Jaskier ought to keep any and all comments in his head and not mutter, no matter how quietly.

Jaskier thinks about the gesture as he sets the fur out, laying it on a soft patch of grass and pine needles and sitting down on it, pulling his lute closer. Geralt stalks back to his own side of the fire, flopping down with a thud onto his blankets. Jaskier looks over in worry, wondering if the Witcher had hurt himself. But, watching his figure through the flames, he shifted around, writhed, wiggled, bunched up and smoothed out the fur blankets and cloth, before settling down like some big dog, curled in on himself. His bright yellow eyes had flickered closed, seeming to dim like cooling embers. Jaskier smiles to himself and pushes the lute off to the side for now. He knew how Geralt reacted to his song a few hours prior. He wasn't thrilled and growled at him to shut up multiple times.

Jaskier lays down and looks up a the stars peeking through the canopy of leaves, thinking about Geralt's gesture, giving Jaskier a blanket. Despite being angry or trying to hate Jaskier, Geralt seemed to care in his own way. As a growing friend, probably? But he also thought of Geralt's monster-like qualities. He rolls over and nibbles on his lower lip. He thinks about those teeth scraping against his skin, across his throat and down his shoulders. He thinks about Geralt's warm tongue wandering down his body and those claws piercing into his soft flesh, scraping animalistic marks into his back, down his sides. He thinks about those eyes, changing colors as he completely devours Jaskier's body without even having to touch Jaskier's body at all. And he wonders if there is more to him. What could he do? What did he look like past the way he showed himself to the world? But also, he wondered how he could help this monstrous man become more revered in the eyes of others so as to not have to hide himself so much every hour of every day. He wondered what that man across the fire had been through and how hard his life had been. He wondered if he would ever know, if he could see any of these things, if Geralt would open up, or if he would also leave eventually. He also thought back to how Geralt reacted at his touch. A new wave of warmth and blushing emotion crashes over Jaskier, but he dismissed it. Maybe it was because Geralt hadn't felt a gentle touch in a long time.  
Jaskier fell asleep wondering these things that night. Little did he know, he would be finding out all of these questions he had and more in the coming years.

~Geralt's POV~

Years fly in a whirlwind of emotions without regard for who's on the ride. They always do. It was years since that little pesky bard had joined him wandering the country, finding odds-and-ends jobs here and there, fighting monsters and Jaskier writing songs about them. If he was being honest with himself, Jaskier's presence felt nice. After that initial time, Geralt had refrained from showing Jaskier any amount of his monstrous mutations so that the bard wouldn't leave. In exchange, the little lark seemed to wiggle himself right into place at Geralt's side. They were never seen anywhere without each other. Taverns and inns lit up in music and raucous laughter when Jaskier started some song about a fishmonger's daughter. Then there were the times of tense listening, children and adults alike, gathered around Jaskier's spot up on a table, singing about one of Geralt's many fights. Every night of Jaskier's singing ended the same; he sang that song he had made that fateful day they came together, Toss a Coin To Your Witcher. People joined in eagerly, placing coins or even small satchels of them on Geralt's table.

Most nights, despite plenty of coins to afford a night or two at the inn, they left and made camp in the forest nearby and Geralt would go hunting while Jaskier started the fire and laid out the blankets and other various bedding.

Geralt was stalking a stag, his eyes glowing bright in the darkness of the forest. The moon was gone tonight, leaving no amount of light for Geralt to work with, but he could see just as clear as if it were noon. He had taken his shoes off at camp, leaving them and his gloves with Jaskier. He was left alone with his own thoughts as he carefully moves in, licking across his teeth, feeling how sharp his canines had grown. He had gotten away with filing them without Jaskier's notice for years. The time was coming once more to file them down again, though. They were much sharper and much longer than how they ought to be. He felt his claws dig into the damp dirt, how long they were, how they curled and hooked into the soft earth. He cringed to think about filing them down, too. Doing so always felt weird, made his stomach flip and writhe uncomfortably. His teeth, he was used to. They were common and numb to the filing by now, but his claws always remained more sensitive, and more rarely touched.

He pounced on the stag, avoiding sharp horns as he digs his teeth into the beast's neck, ripping and tearing as his claws dig at the stag's head, gripping the antlers at the base, his claws hooking in, cracking into the skull with practiced skill. He felt the stag writhe as it crumbles to the ground. Geralt tosses the antlers to the side after digging them out. He stands up and looks down at the animal, defeated and bloody. Geralt had torn its throat out as the deer fell, leaving it as still as a rock. Geralt wipes his mouth, the coppery taste of the blood invading his senses. He grabs the antlers and drags it away by the feet, deep in thought.

Jaskier deserved much more than what Geralt had to offer. He deserved a normal, though still successful, life. He deserved a family and a warm home, good food and good drink. He grunts at his own thoughts, disapproving of himself. Was he really thinking about Jaskier so much, so fondly, right now? He sighs as he approaches the camp. Jaskier was rubbing his hands, holding them by the fire. He had several blankets wrapped around him. His lute was laid off to the side. Geralt sets the deer down nearby and slinks over to Jaskier, sitting by him. He was met with warm eyes and an equally as warm smile. Geralt had to swallow back a possessive growl.

"Geralt! You're back. Great. I was just wondering what was taking you so long," Jaskier said, his voice gentle and petal-soft.  
"Concerned about me so deeply?" Geralt grunts as he stands back up, though he was immediately tugged back down.  
"You're absolutely bloody. You were messy tonight. Is something on your mind?" Jaskier whispers, reaching for an old piece of cloth, perpetually stained red from wiping up blood. He starts to wipe Geralt's face.  
Geralt grunts and growls disapprovingly at him, but allows Jaskier to wipe his face. "I guess," he grunts. He watches as Jaskier starts to wipe blood off of the Witcher's hands.  
"What's on your mind that you made such a mess?" Jaskier asked, putting the bloody rag off to the side before looking directly at Geralt. His voice was like a song in itself and Geralt just felt like sleeping to his gentle words.

Geralt looks away, unsure on how to phrase such a remark. He shrugged one shoulder quite lamely, finding the words he had thought of had escaped him. He then feels a warm hand on his cheek. He leans into it, pressing his scarred face into that smooth, soft hand. Jaskier had small callouses from strumming his lute, but they were otherwise soft and unmarred, like some swatch of silken fabric. Jaskier's thumb runs across his jaw and Geralt starts to purr, the sound almost like a growl, but more warm and content. His eyes flutter closed, finding that the biting chill of the wind of early winter could no longer reach him.

"Its alright if you don't want to talk about it right now," Jaskier said, earning one of Geralt's infamous hums. He chuckled, a little tremor in the laugh. "And, not to change the subject, but," his voice trailed momentarily before he started talking again. "May I sleep next to you tonight?"

Geralt's eyes snap open in surprise. Shock and confusion fill his head, whirling in emotions before he shrugged and hummed again, indifferently. He hoped Jaskier took that as he would, before getting up to grab his swords, a dagger, and went to get to work on the deer.

After the meal, Geralt flopped onto his bed of blankets. He shifted and shuffled and wriggled and writhed until he basically had a nest of his blankets. Some smelled very lightly of Jaskier. His sweet, floral scent with earthy notes. He nuzzles into that blanket subconsciously, before feeling something warm at his back. He lifts his head to see Jaskier and his hoard of blankets curl up close to Geralt. He looked like a little furry turtle with the way he was laying. Geralt grunts, getting Jaskier's attention, before opening one arm, in an invitation.  
It wasn't romantic to offer your pet bard to cuddle, right?  
Jaskier took the invitation, crawling into Geralt's arms and pressing his face into the crook of Geralt's neck, scooting closer as Geralt puts his arm around Jaskier's small body.  
Geralt bit at his own lower lip.  
It wasn't romantic to hold your bard close in your nest of blankets, right?  
Geralt bows his head and nuzzles into Jaskier's hair.  
It wasn't romantic to scent your bard so every other Witcher, at least, would know he was yours, right?

Right?


End file.
